Five minutes
by Alternatively
Summary: If they hadn't been sacrificed for some narrative symmetry, and because it really is unusual for things to move that fast. A brief alternative Lupin-and-Tonks relationship arc.


**After morning tea at Grimmauld Place…**

"Let me guess, it all goes too far, and we have a shot-gun wedding and a baby and die horribly in an epic battle, and _then _who will raise our mixed-up child?"

He was very still for a moment.

She gave him a playful shove.

"You complete idiot, Remus, that's not how this stuff _works!_ You just have no clue 'cause you've always been too scared to try it!"

He was still and quiet beside her on the sofa, with the morning light weak and grey on his face. Always so solemn.

"The fact remains, Nymphadora, that I-"

"Yes, I know, you have abandonment issues,"

"No, I-"

"You're terrified of intimacy,"

"It's just-"

"You're a typical Gryffindor? Rather fight dragons and vanquish sea monsters than admit you have _feelings?_"

He was silent for a moment.

"It's not that I'm not very fond of you, Nymphadora. But you must understand, my condition renders it impossible,"

She blinked at him.

"Which bit?"

"Sorry?"

"Well, which bit of a relationship does your condition render impossible? As far as I can make out, you have a couple of days where you're unavailable for activities, but other than that, you're just as shaggable as anyone else,"

"Charming."

She grinned at him.

"I'm right though, aren't I? You've ruled out having a bit of a snog today because of like, fifty-seven different versions of the future all of which you think will be disastrous. Have you thought about the good options? Or even just like, the mediocre ordinary ones?"

He was regarding her very gravely, but he hadn't changed the subject, or got up off the sofa, or stopped her when she put her hand on his knee, imploring.

"I might hurt you,"

"You won't,"

"But what if-"

"Nope. I'm pretty confident that you will not hurt me in the next five minutes, and so are you."

More silence.

"It's not just five minutes," He said, sounding slightly dead, like she was offering him the world and it was a lie.

He really was an appalling catastrophiser.

"Uh, ex-cuse me?! Bit over-confident now, aren't we, mister snog-fantastic, how do you know it won't be a total flop? All this chemistry might just fizzle out into nothing, and then, you know, great result really, because we tried, it didn't work out, and we can move on and maybe be able to actually pay attention in Order meetings,"

He shifted slightly, blinking, and she could see there was the tiniest head shake, as though some part of him couldn't help saying _no, it won't fizzle, not for me._

_Good_.

She had no intention of letting any of this fizzle out. This was a fire she was planning to feed. And he knew that. And she knew he knew. But right now, they were negotiating terms, and the terms had to make it so, so clear that it could end at any time, that there was no commitment, no obligation, nothing. Just what is happening right now.

No-one had ever looked at her with such love and such longing… for the first time in her life she felt absolutely certain of where she stood. This was a man who loved her no matter what she looked like, or how many things she broke, or how often she swore, or, or, _any_ of it. It was just… it was like the way she knew she would love him regardless of whether or not he ever let her in… he was… he was _him. _And that was so absolutely beautiful.

Sirius had decided to 'clean up' the remains of the chocolate eclairs she'd brought round, and had left them in the dingy sitting room with a very unsubtle wink. She wasn't quite sure who it had been directed at, but it had been far too obvious for either of them to ignore. Maybe that was the point. Remus had apologised for Sirius' total lack of manners, and delusional attempts at matchmaking, and she'd snorted and said at least he wouldn't interrupt them if they _did_ decide to get it on in the front room, and it had all kind of snowballed from there, and now, she was sort of twisted on the sofa beside him, with her hand on his knee, _and he wasn't running away_, and she could see that _maybe_, just maybe, this might be the moment.

She squidged right up next to him, until she was sort of leaning into his side, her face right up close. She just sat there, one hand on his knee, her side pressed to the side of his arm, her other arm chicken-winged over his shoulder…

He was panicking. She could tell, because he was completely still, and not looking at her. So she waited.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" his voice sounded a little hoarse.

"No," she said, smirking, "I'd much rather snog you senseless but I really do need your consent to do that,"

Again, the tiniest movement, almost a nod. Part of him wanted to say yes.

Tonks slipped her fingers into his hair and waited. His eyes fluttered shut for a second and she felt his mind lean into the idea that this was possible, and this was safe.

"Five minutes," He murmured, and time slowed.

His eyes, grey, serious, lashes paler at the tips, scars, breath, nose… there was an excruciating eternity in the moments before he kissed her, hesitant, anxious, and then hot, and sweet, and certain; a little bit restrained, a little bit urgent, and so, so haircurlingly good.

"Ringlets?" he said, startled, blinking at the handful of tight magenta curls surging between his fingers.

"Well," she said, swinging her leg over to straddle his lap, "I'm having to resist the temptation to tear your clothes off and all that energy has to go somewhere,"

She was rewarded with a blush and a shy smile.

"Do you really…"

"You kidding me? You've got this sexy librarian thing going on."

A flicker of surprise.

She smirked against his mouth and kissed him again.

_Bliss_.

Time sped up and slowed down, until the grandfather clock in the corner tolled a gloomy eleven o'clock.

She pulled back, reluctant to stop, but knowing she had to give him time to adjust to the idea that this wasn't a run-away train, and nothing disastrous would happen. They could take it five minutes at a time. She could wait.

Well.

More or less.

"So, I'm taking you to dinner on Tuesday," she said, climbing off his lap and grabbing her coat off the other chair. He was looking flushed and dazed, and so much younger than usual. She seemed to have snogged some life into him. "Wear your sexiest cardigan,"

"My _what?_"

She grinned.

"Incorrigible," he said, trying to look disapproving.

She winked and danced out of the room, light with laughter.

**After the battle of Hogwarts…**

He had blood on his cheek and stone dust in his hair. He was limping. But he was alive.

And she was alive.

Everything hurt, but she was alive.

They sat down on a chunk of fallen masonry.

The battle was over.

"Remus?"

"Mmmm?"

"Wanna move in with me?"

He blinked at her.

"Uh…"

"That's next. See, after you've broken up a bunch of times, you help defeat a Dark Lord, and then you flatshare, and argue about whose turn it is to cook dinner."

A faint smile.

"Yes, all right," he said quietly, "I'd like that."

Her heart swelled.

"But don't get carried away," she said sternly, "We could break up at any time, and I'm not in the mood for babies or wedding rings. Maybe, in six months' time, _maybe _we can discuss co-ownership of a houseplant."

He smiled properly this time, warmth in his eyes melting her, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple.

"I wouldn't want to rush you," he said, voice tinted with amusement, "But I think I'm ready for a houseplant,"

She snorted.

"Ok fine, we can negotiate on houseplants,"

She slipped her arm around his waist and kissed him. It was familiar and firm and full of all the promises they hadn't yet made.

They were _alive._

He sighed.

"I suppose we had better claim some dittany," he said, gently touching the side of her face. She assumed there was some injury there she couldn't yet feel.

They struggled up and limped back towards the great hall.

"I'm worried you'll leave me for a buxom accountant," she said suddenly, feeling him tense beside her as they stepped back into the hellish nightmare of the post-battle clean up. "The kind of woman who looks good in a pencil skirt and actually has cleavage,"

He chuckled and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"It's ok, Dora, I'm not going anywhere."

Relief washed through her.

They would have houseplants, and a place of their own, and squabbles, and children, and long arguments about ethics and tactics and whether or not the tea was strong enough, and they would neither of them have to walk into the future alone.

_We can grow old together now._

_Five minutes at a time…_


End file.
